


what happens in vegas

by ohlookatthestars (KanbaraAkhito)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, T cause they get drunk and Hal cusses a few times, but listen they're adorable i love me some batlantern, diana steph arthur damian alfred and oliver are all mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 03:06:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11546187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KanbaraAkhito/pseuds/ohlookatthestars
Summary: The one where Bruce and Hal get drunk and wake up married in Vegas.





	what happens in vegas

Bruce isn’t particularly surprised when the plan goes fabulously to shit. At the end of it, Clark and Diana are the only ones not sporting some sort of wound and well, they’re cheating. Batman himself was hosting a broken arm similar to the one Alfred had put Jason under house arrest for only a week earlier. The Justice League was on call in northwest Nevada, far from Gotham. Bruce had set aside a weekend for it and, though the fight had ended in hours, was congratulating himself for that particular decision. Sleeping for a week sounds pretty good right about now.

He’s flopped over on the bed when Hal comes bursting into his room with Barry in tow, quite literally, bowling the door over.

Right. Bruce can’t have nice things.

“No,” he says prematurely, unwilling to mix himself up with whatever the idiot Lantern was planning. He didn’t feel like breaking another arm tonight.

“Aw, come on! We’re by Vegas, Spooky! Bad decisions await!”

Bruce, though it pains him greatly, deigns Hal a response. “No.”

The universe, because it hates him, does not take the hint to immediately teleport Hal to the Bermuda Triangle.

He feels the Lantern leaning over him, imagining the way his eyebrows would draw together and his lips would pinch and curve down in his signature frown. Bruce thought it made him look like a puppy. Bruce also thought puppies were rather adorable. (They had one at home that Damian had found in a storm, and Jason had taken it upon himself to name the little thing Spike Flufferton the Third). He wasn’t willing to draw the connection between those two notions.

“Hey,” Hal’s voice is softer, “Feeling okay?”

Bruce grunts, muscles protesting as he rolls on to his back, looking tiredly into Hal’s dancing eyes. Hal’s face contorts into the Puppy Frown again as he looks over Bruce’s arm. His fingers are gentle as he runs over the sling, checking it. Bruce distantly notes Barry’s sudden absence.

“You took a pretty bad hit out there. Fracture?”

Bruce nods. “M’fine.”

Hal’s face splits into a devious grin and Bruce suddenly regrets every decision he’s ever made leading up to this very moment. “Well then,” Hal grins, “You should be good for a night on the town, right?”

It takes everything in Bruce not to punch Hal in the face as the galactic superhero chuckles above him. “I’m joking, Bruce. You look like you could use the rest.”

It’s an out if he’s ever heard one, and really, Bruce should take it. He wants to take it. He doesn’t take it. “I’m not getting any rest while you’re around, Jordan, might as well.”

Hal shrugs, moving to the doorway where Barry has magically reappeared, and fixed the door too, it seems.

Diana and Arthur join them in the lobby, Arthur still looking a bit out of place as he always does. It might be the Atlantian thing. It also might be the vivacious Hawaiian shirt he’s wearing. Bruce thinks it’s rather unfair that he has to look at colors that bright only two hours after getting thrown into a building. Clark is the last to meet them and it’s fairly evident that Oliver isn’t joining them, but Bruce side glances Hal anyway.

“You know how he is with drinking,” Hal says, and Bruce just nods, jaw tightening and resisting the urge to do something stupid when he reads the pain in Hal’s eyes. 

+

It starts with the pink martini. Clark, unsurprisingly, doesn’t go for hard liquor, Kryptonian physiology notwithstanding. Not that he didn’t normally, but one could never be too safe when it came to Vegas.

A blonde in a fetching Harley Quinn outfit (It literally takes Barry pouring ice on Bruce’s head to unroll his eyes, where can he go that Gotham won’t follow) takes certain interest in Clark of The Pink Martini’s and decides to put something in his drink. He notices, of course, but he’s familiar with the compound and his alien DNA prevents its effects from taking place. The martini chain continues. Now, this young Harley Quinn is absolutely astounded at the tolerance of this man, considering she had put a roofie in his last thirteen martinis. She wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore.

Eventually, this draws the attention of the rest of the bar and Clark attempts to bow out. But it’s Vegas, the one place Bruce would contend bore citizens more catastrophe-acclimated than those of Gotham, so the bartender keeps pushing martinis at Clark, regardless of whether or not he’s drinking them. This leaves the rest of the Justice League, excluding Diana who had been drawn to the flashy colors of the dance floor and the flashier yet eyes of the woman whirling at its center, on the opposite side of the bar, making their own drinks since the rest of the building’s patrons seem occupied by Clark. Arthur has long since abandoned them for the classy wet bar across the street.

“Try this,” Hal giggles, holding a brownish-red liquid in front of him. The Lantern has been tipsy since he eyed the bottle of premium bourbon resting so invitingly on the bar counter. He’s been mixing Bruce suspiciously colored drinks for the past fifteen minutes. Bruce thinks it says a lot about his tolerance that he actually drinks them.

That tolerance doesn’t last forever, however, and soon enough, Hal Jordan, number one pilot at Ferris Aircraft, and Bruce Wayne, rich boy and most famous Gothamite to ever live (excluding his alter ego), are doing a terrible rendition of the salsa atop the bar. Barry, who has only had one drink with no effect due to the speed of his body systems and their designated Stop-The-Justice-League-From-Revealing-Their-Identities-In-A-Drunken-Stupor guy of the night, is taking a video with an expression that pretty much says this is the best night of his life. He gets them down eventually, when Hal has said the word ‘green’ too many times for him to be comfortable, and lets them curl up under the bar counter’s ledge while he goes to save Clark and find Diana. Of course, when he returns, they’re gone.

+

“Fuck.” The disembodied voice sounds right next to Bruce’s ear and he makes a disgruntled noise as it ricochets through his head. The Voice, deciding it was hell-bent on making his pounding headache worse, continues to make sounds, and Bruce distantly wonders if it’s possible to reach a plane of existence where he can punch someone in the voice.

Even with his head swimming, Bruce comes to his senses eventually, lifting himself with great effort and flopping sideways, coming face to face with Hal Jordan. The Lantern’s eyes widen as he takes in Bruce and seems to come to the conclusion that one of them stumbled into the wrong room last night after their ventures along the Strip. Hal blinks a few more times, face pinching in the way Bruce knows to associate with a headache. He desperately wants to let sleep claim him once more, but he also knows that they should probably figure out what happened last night. Making the decision for him, Hal pushes his face into the warmth of Bruce’s neck, bare minutes passing before his body relaxes with sleep. Bruce has little choice but to follow suit.

+

When they wake next, they are, for one thing, significantly more tangled. For another, there’s a pitcher of appallingly colored hangover juice on the bedside table of what can now be discerned as Bruce’s room, a note from Barry resting next to it.

_Drink up and call me when you’re both feeling up to it. I already told your families you’d probably need a day. Also, Bruce, I’m really sorry, but your kids extorted me for pictures because of an Incident involving Wally and Bart._  
_\- Loving friend who does not want a Batarang in his chest,  
Barry_

Hal looks up from where he’s leant against Bruce’s shoulder, having read the note. “Please don’t put a Batarang in my best friend’s chest.”

Bruce considers this. “He’ll heal.”

“Crazy fucking rich boy,” Hal mutters, rolling his eyes at Bruce’s raised eyebrow.

They drink the juice in relative silence, swallowing the vile concoction with some difficulty. It does dissolve the excruciating pain so, tradeoffs.

“Hey,” Hal says, a little panicked, “We kissed last night.”

Bruce nods, “We did.” They had. It was nice. Bruce’s mind was drifting to the puppy analogy and he forcefully brought it back.

Hal bites his lip. “Thing is, I can’t remember why.”

Bruce frowns, thinking the statement over. He remembers the soft slide of Hal’s lips against his, the pair of them tasting like liquor and blood and a bit of something burning. Hands in his hair, arms around his neck, a body pressed snug against the line of his. All this, Bruce remembers with startling clarity, dutifully ignoring the way his heartrate picks up at the memory. But the context of it, he can’t place. He squints at the wall, running the events of the night through his head.

They had left the bar, laughing secretively at their refractory of Barry’s wishes, stumbling along the length of the Strip and pointing at things. The colorful fountain show of the Bellagio (“Rainbow!” Hal had observed happily, “Like Kyle!”), the pyramidal structure of the Luxor, the verdant glow of MGM Grand (“Like me,” Hal had said, still smiling).

And then—and then they’d somehow found themselves at the Chapel of Flowers.

+

_“Hey,” Hal was laughing; he was always laughing. It was beautiful._

_“Hey, Bruce. Look.” He pointed to the wrought iron of the chapel’s gates. “It’s so pretty.”_

_Bruce tilted his head, observing. It_ was _pretty. He turned to look at Hal instead. “You’re pretty.”_

_Hal laughed again. His hands came up on either side of Bruce’s face and he held his gaze, mouth curved in an open-mouthed smile._

_Their foreheads touched. “I should be saying that.” Hal licked his lips, eyes flickering to Bruce’s own._

_“Hey, Bruce?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“I like you. A lot. You’re so—you’re so you, Spooky.”_

_“Oh,” Bruce said. “Me too.”_

_Hal grinned. “Hey, Bruce,” he said for the third time that night. “Let’s get married.”_

_“Okay.”_

+

They whip around to look at each other simultaneously.

“Oh my God,” Hal whispers. “Oh my God, Bruce we’re _married_.”

“We kissed at the wedding,” Bruce says, just as awed, but more at his apparent sheer lack of judgment.

Hal puts his head in his hands, keeling sideways to drop his weight against Bruce.

“God, we are Those People. The people who actually get shitfaced in Vegas and get hitched while severely intoxicated.”

Bruce nods.

“We’re fucking crazy, Bats. We are absolutely insane.”

“We’re not the first,” Bruce provides.

“We’re the first _League members_ ,” Hal groans.

“Actually,” Bruce starts, but Hal shakes his head, burrowing into Bruce’s shoulder.

“No. Nope. I can’t take this kind of information right now, I am hungover.”

“Okay.”

They’re silent for a time.

“What happened to your sling?” Hal asks, fifteen minutes later, still tucked disbelievingly into Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce looks down, noticing for the first time the neon purple sling that seemed to have replaced his previous, less conspicuous black one. _‘Stephanie’s suggestion’_ is written across it in black Sharpie. Bruce sighs.

“Batgirl?”

“Batgirl.”

Hal hums, amused, before lifting his head to finally look at Bruce.

“Hey.”

“Yes?”

Hal hesitates, before continuing, voice soft. “Did you mean it?”

Bruce knows what he’s referring to.

“…Yes. Did you?”

Hal scoffs. “Obviously. Have you seen yourself?”

Bruce laughs, a low, short thing that had once been hidden exclusively for his children. The Justice League had become another sort of family for him, coaxing emotions and responses he wasn’t used to, and ultimately gaining his trust.

Hal looks at him like he’s the center of the multiverse and Bruce isn’t sure what to do about that, so he stares back.

“Can I kiss you?” Hal licks his lips.

Bruce leans forward, answer written in the movement of his body.

+

“I can’t believe this.” Hal has been absolutely insufferable since he caught Bruce in the horror of a Christmas sweater his children had begged him into.

Bruce scowls, “I’m getting a divorce.”

“Sure you are, beautiful.” Hal winks, leaning forward to press a kiss against the corner of his boyfriend’s lips.

Bruce rolls his eyes, relaxing unconsciously against Hal as they listen to the sound of the kids attacking the manor with a variety of (questionable) Christmas decorations.

“B!” Jason calls from the doorway, “Where’s the box of candy cane knives?”

Bruce, ignoring Hal mouthing, _‘What the fuck,’_ directs his second son to the attic.

Thinking better of it, he calls, “Hold on, Jay. You and Damian aren’t allowed in the same room as those.” He turns to Hal, an amused smile playing on his lips, “Can you grab them?”

Hal grumbles without any heat behind it. _One time_ you grab a bowl of popcorn from across the room with your magic ring, and suddenly everyone wants a favor.

“I do all the work in this family.”

Bruce laughs, slipping out the doorway to chase after his son, and Hal is struck by how beautiful a sound that is.

Vegas, as it turned out, was good for something after all.

**Author's Note:**

> batlantern, what a pair of nerds. i love them. tumblr: @annabethchsaes


End file.
